


The Chaos Of Spheres

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [28]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 20:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17474630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Much as in years past, the unalterable Lady Lyanna stood a cold and grey reminder of loss. The face of the statue wore its faded features with a quiet pride, a remarkable ghost in its own right. But the carved stone did not, in fact, resemble the woman it portrayed in the slightest. “There are no flowers for her yet?” he questioned, turning to look at the old lord.“The roses take long to bloom this year.” He supposed he should have considered the matter himself, but Rhaegar made a point, and had been ever since he began his yearly pilgrimages, to not leave her anything.AU! One small spark lights the flames of a raging inferno and it all begins with the disappearance of a mother.





	The Chaos Of Spheres

 

 

 

 

 

 

The draft pushing its way within the crypts past the open doors should have been softened by the many objects it met in its path. Unfortunately, the North abided by no known rules, as far as Rhaegar could tell, and thus the gale continued its march. Or might be ‘twas not the inclement weather. He’d passed a long row of much-forgotten kings in his quest to find the one denizen of these sorry burial chambers he had any wish to see.

Much as in years past, the unalterable Lady Lyanna stood a cold and grey reminder of loss. The face of the statue wore its faded features with a quiet pride, a remarkable ghost in its own right. But the carved stone did not, in fact, resemble the woman it portrayed in the slightest. “There are no flowers for her yet?” he questioned, turning to look at the old lord.

“The roses take long to bloom this year.” He supposed he should have considered the matter himself, but Rhaegar made a point, and had been ever since he began his yearly pilgrimages, to not leave her anything. He supposed it was not charitable of him. But then, ‘twas what little he might do in vein of vengeance. Rhaegar cocked his head to the side. “Your Majesty?”

 “It makes no matter.” His attention returned to the effigy. He supposed a skilled sculptor might restore it to its former glory. “You needn’t wait upon me, Lord Stark.” The sound of retreating footfalls faded gently away. In spite of the statue’s state, he could see that some care had been given to the space. He reached out, picking up a small wooden carving which had been set by the hem of stone Lyanna’s skirts. She would have liked the trinkets. One of her brothers must have brought it for her.  He placed it back.

In the absence of inquisitive eyes, he felt more at ease in reaching out to her. Not the statue; carved stone would not respond to human touch. The bones beneath the slab, however, were human. Was it unconscionable selfish of him to wish that some part of her lingered? His fingers tapped along the cold edge of her grave. He did not suppose she would; what was there for her to linger over?

 “You told me once that the Wall holds more worth than one could ever imagine. I think I am beginning to understand.” He told her some of his plans; that he’d been sharing with her from the very beginning. Silence did not discourage him. “It shall take time, of course, to help the brothers rise in number. But I believe it can be done, if the timing proves correct.” She would have pestered him about finding men for the Night’s Watch long before their call for help came, he did not doubt. Lyanna had lived with the certainty that the North the neck to the head of the South. “I do not think it hurts anything to see their plight with my own eyes beforehand, however.”   

She would have likely enjoyed his plans as well. If ever there was an opportunity for mischief, Lyanna would not shy from taking it up. Rhaegar could not help but smile. “I leave you now, my lady. Until we meet again.” He gave a pat to the slab before turning is back on the grave and whatever remained of Lyanna.

Without the entrance of the crypts stood a half-frozen Arthur. His scowl told Rhaegar that once again, he’d lingered overlong. “Whatever it is you wish to say, my friend, keep it to yourself.”

“You already know I won’t,” Arthur argued and then proceeded to say just what was on his mind. “I do wish we would have taken more men with us. It is fair foolish to be going about as we do. And she would have told you the same thing.”

He supposed Lyanna would have cared about their safety. “More men makes for slower travel. I do not mean to linger here.” His companion sighed. “Go on then, say the rest of your piece.”

“You still have much left to do before you may go to your final rest. Why would you insist on making it all the more dangerous when it needn’t be?” What was the point of an adventure if there was no danger to be had. Rhaegar indulged Arthur, nonetheless, by explaining that, as ever, he trusted him and Whent to keep him safe. “This is not some jest!”

“Of course it isn’t.” His response merely worked towards enraging Arthur even further. Not that Rhaegar had expected otherwise. He did, however, know that it would compel his friend to pull out of the conversation.

Whent, whose main concern had been tied to finding food and drink, was busily taking stock of the offerings Lord Stark had brought forth for them. It was a fair selection and would keep them well fed if naught else.

“I see you have been keeping busy.” Rhaegar took a seat on the empty bench, leaning back against the table. “When do you think we may leave, Whent?”

“As soon as Your Majesty desires, I daresay. We have all we need.” He’d made the journey to the Wall before, albeit it had been in the company of a veritable army. It hadn’t been quite so cold then, he seemed to recall. Or might be that had been the wine.  That reminded him that the chill settling in his bones might be slightly alleviated by a few mouthfuls of wine.

“Except for rest. Let us sit awhile longer.” There would be enough riding to make him sick of sitting a horse, he didn’t doubt, but at the moment he found simply sitting and doing little other than staring ahead proved much harder than he had anticipated. He tapped his foot against the stones beneath his feet, waiting for the time to pass them by.

The Wall and its many problems ought to keep occupied, if he did not expire from the sheer power of anticipation beforehand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“There seems to be some kind of brawl,” Arthur explained, his hand already gripping the handle of his blade. “I cannot say that I recognise any of the men involved though.” Rhaegar had seen more than his fair share of scuffles and he was just about to chalk it up to rancorous drinking when the portly form of Samwell Tarly came tumbling out of the shadows. The way that boy went, it was a wonder he wasn’t rolling on the ground.

Recognition lit up on the boy’s face as soon as he saw them. Rhaegar heard Arthur’s imprecation but paid his friend no mind as he hailed the lad over. “Now what could possibly have you running like that, young Tarly?”

“My friend’s in trouble. Have to find help.” That much Rhaegar managed to piece together. He moved assuming one of the Watch’s members had somehow managed to embroil himself in some manner of conflict. Unfortunately, upon closer inspection, he could not say he recognised the young man, whom he assumed was the friend Tarly spoke of, planting his fist into the face of a shorter, somewhat broader man. It did not seem to him as though the lad needed any help.

Or so he thought until he saw another figure emerging from within the small entrance of the tavern. Quick to react, Whent tackled the man before he managed to intervene between the other two, while Rhaegar nodded for Arthur to break the fight. Much value entertainment as he found in the whole of it, he feared they’d be standing out all night.

Making short work of getting between the two combatants, Arthur made it clear he would resort to making use of his blade if the two didn’t settle down. The younger of the two was seemed not to have much of a problem with such a request, but the other man set to protesting loudly. From what he did manage to catch, Rhaegar understood only that the tavern’s owner had not sent the ruffian on his way soon enough before he got in some conflict with other patrons.

In the end, they managed to send the two presumed assailants on their way, leaving it to Tarly to introduce his companion. Might be he was one of the scouts, or had come from one of the other keeps along the Wall. “This is Jon Snow, from the Bear Isle. The Lord Commander’s son.”

“Jeor Mormont’s son?” Arthur questioned, as though he could not quite believe the words.

“That I am,” responded the young man, as he wiped away at the rivulet of blood streaming from a small wound on his face. “Not that I wished to bring any attention to it, Sam,” he addressed his friend pointedly. “And who are you then?” he demanded of Arthur.

“Mere hedge knights.” That was quick thinking on Arthur’s part, though, Rhaegar supposed he should have expected as much.

A chuckle escaped the lad’s lips. He did not look a thing like his sire. “Even hedge knights have names. How am I to express proper gratitude if I do not know even as much as your names?”

“I wouldn’t press, Jon. You can thank them by paying them a round.” It seemed that in spite of his outward cowardice, Tarly did have impeccable timing. Jeor’s son seemed to accept that and followed by inviting them within for a drink.

“I could do with some ale myself.” A brave boy, Rhaegar decided, as he followed along, not adverse to some warm ale.

The tavern was, as ever, filled with brothers of the watch and men of Mole’s Town alike. It seemed, however, that the owner was as aware of Jon Snow’s parentage as Tarly was, which ensured them a table of their own. And quick service. Truly, it was the best he’d had since his arrival. Might be he ought to renounce his assumed identity.

“If you shan’t give me any names, dare I ask what brings three Southron knights this far north?” Jon Snow questioned, leaning back in his seat. On the low light of tallow candles there was something almost familiar about the boy’s visage.”

“Travel.” As far as answers went, Rhaegar was aware his simply gave rise to more confusion.

“Travel? I always was under the impression that hedge knights would be gladder still to find a position rather than gallivant about.” The mug of warn ale tipped in the boy’s hand before he managed to straighten it. A hurt hand couldn’t help him any, Rhaegar imagined, as his eyes caught the transfer of weight from one hand to the other.

“We’ve done enough serving,” Arthur intervened. “To tell you true, Jon Snow of Bear isle, we were curious as to these parts. The wild North promised many adventures.”

“Am I to understand the promise has not been fulfilled?” It struck Rhaegar at that point, looking into the boy’s earnest face, that his actions were an echo of another’s. Of course he should take some liking to the boy for standing up for Samwell Tarly.

“How could it disappoint?” Oswell finally cut in. “I swear I’ve never feared for my fingers as I do now.” Their young friend had only amusement in response.

For his own part, Rhaegar was content to listen to Whent airing a list of grievances, much to the delight of a somewhat more relaxed Samwell Tarly and a diverted Jon Snow. Lyanna would be glad to hear that there were still those willing to stand up for the weak and downtrodden. In fact, he suspected she would have liked Lord Jeor’s son as much as Rhaegar found he liked the boy. There was something there, something he could not quite place, almost as though a fog obscured the more important aspects which might make the matter clear to him.

No matter how he pressed and prodded, the veil stayed firmly in place to the point where he gave up on it entirely, concentrating on his drink and the tale Whent had begun about one of their less than pleasant confrontations since their arrival in Mole’s Town.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Disappeared?” Rhaegar was shocked to say the least, not so much by the fact that the Lord Commander had taken a leman and produced offspring. That a man did with ease, or more so than many presumed. Nay, what had him confused was that his son thought this particular man could do aught to help. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is it than you plan to do?”

“What can I do? Jon seems to think she’s been making her way up north. But that makes little sense to me.” Unless, of course, there was aught the son was not telling him. The boy was young, might be his own Aegon’s age. It stood to reason that there were some years between his mother and his sire.

“Might she have gone to her family?” Something shifted in the Old Bear’s expression. Rhaegar could not quite put his finger on the meaning behind that, but what he did know was that a cold shiver raced down his spine to chilling effect.

“She hasn’t any. To tell you true, Your Majesty, that girl has no one in the world but her son. What she could have been thinking to take off like that, I do not know.” An idea materialised in Rhaegar’s mind. It had to be spoken, not only for the old man’s sake but for his son’s as well.

“A lover then?” It was not out of the realm of possibility. A woman with no family to speak of had done all she could to survive. Albeit, it seemed a tad silly to throw away a comfortable life with her son for the embrace of a lover; but then it might well be that she availed herself of a chance she hadn’t had before.

Jeor shook his head. “Not Lya.” His face must have shown something, for the old man hurried to speak. “I grant you, Your Majesty, that you might be tempted to look at the distance between she and I and assume the worst of her, but she is and always has been a devoted mother to Jon.”

“Raiders might be? The Bear Isle is beset by raiders often enough. Could it be that she has fallen into their hands?” It had to be one of the strangest things he had ever heard. But then Rhaegar was not certain how much of what the man said he believed.

“Lyanna, my youngest niece that is,” he explained, “saw her leave on her own and followed for a time. Had there been any raid, we would have known.”

“Lyanna,” Rhaegar repeated, wondering if she’d been named for his Lyanna. House Mormont and House Stark seemed to have a good rapport. “How old is your niece?”

“The gods only know. Madge has too many daughters.” He should not have chuckled. The situation, tense as it was, did not call for such. And yet to hear the man speak such words did not help him any. Or might be it was his own surprise at the turn of events.

A knock on the door pulled him away from his thoughts. The wizened face of Maester Aemon  appeared in the doorway. “Apologies for interrupting, my lord, Your Majesty. His Majesty is calling for you.”

He should not have brought the man along. Rhaegar cursed his notion to have the madman hauled over the distance between King’s Landing and the Wall, but he hadn’t had the heart to leave the wretch behind. And he would pay for it for the reminder of their stay, Rhaegar suspected. Nonetheless, he stood to his feet. “Send the boy to me. We will work something out and find this mother of his wherever she might be.”

The Lord Commander did not argue. Thus Rhaegar excused himself and followed the maester into a separate chamber. His father was sitting near a merrily burning fire, rubbing his hands as though to get the blood flowing. He did indeed seem agitated, looking helplessly to Rhaegar, as if begging for aid.

Knowing what his father could be like when in one of his moods, Rhaegar decided not to keep him waiting, thus found himself approaching the man, reaching out to break his obsessive hand motions. “Father, what has happened.”

“They taunt me.” Rhaegar did his best to swallow his sigh. “Kill them all, they say. Kill them all.” That certainly made him glad to have brought his sire along. “They want us dead.”

“We are safe. You are safe. No one will harm you.” Any reason to see his way out of the chamber would do. Alas, he well knew ‘twas impossible for him to take off until the storm had passed. Once more he caught the man’s hands when they returned to rubbing. “Father, look into my eyes.”

That order the man did follow. Alas, ‘twas in order to speak rather than listen. “Kill them all; they keep saying that.”

“Tell them to stop then.” And to think that during the journey he had been as meek as a lamb. Rhaegar should have known it would not last.

“I cannot. They don’t listen.” One had to wonder at that. If it were demons indeed, Rhaegar suspected they would never pause in their torment. Unfortunately for his sire, there were no demons to speak of. Only ghosts.

“They have to listen. And they must stop.” The fog cleared from the elder’s eyes and the more usual sadness swamped his expression. “Have they gone quiet now?”      

“Aye.” Rhaegar let go and drew to his full height.

The old ruler turned to gaze out the window. “There is a wolf in the courtyard.” He even pointed to the presumed creature, much to Rhaegar’s dismay. Might be the gods did not deem auditory hallucinations enough.

Intent on proving him wrong, Rhaegar glanced without, trying to determine what shape had created the illusion for his father. To his great shock, however, he found that there was indeed a wolf in the yard. And not any kind at that. If he did not miss his guess, that was a direwolf.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
